


Nightmares Can Bring Such Sweet Dreams

by murrimabutterfly



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Oblivious Remus Lupin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:21:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27448546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murrimabutterfly/pseuds/murrimabutterfly
Summary: It started with a nightmare...Remus starts seeking comfort in Sirius Black after a nightmare leaves him terrified.
Relationships: Sirius Black & Remus Lupin & Peter Pettigrew & James Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 1
Kudos: 81





	Nightmares Can Bring Such Sweet Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> I know Rowling is terrible, and I think everything about her views is abhorrent. But as much as I would love to run far from her influence and pretend that I don't care about her, Rowling and Harry Potter are massive influences in my life. Rowling's writing style lent notes to my own, and Harry Potter has always been my comfort series. I don't support her, but I can't forget her.
> 
> I've been in a weird emotional space, and so this was my way of coping. It's basically unedited save for grammatical errors.

It started with a nightmare.

Remus awoke, pale, panting, sweating, the harsh echoes of some frightful ordeal still swirling in his head. He remembered enough to know that he’d had this dream before, had it enough times to find himself at his mother’s bedside or in the kitchen with a cup of tea in a way that felt like routine. But the safe confines of Hogwarts, the gentle and unconditional support of people supposed to fear him, the unyielding joy of having actual, real friends usually kept the nightmares at bay. Only as the moon’s peak drew close could Remus remember having real nightmares. But the moon was a weak sliver in the sky, barely enough to produce light.

His body was still shaking.

He craved comfort—a cup of tea or a well-worn book. Preferably both. But it was still too early to find himself in the common room, curled up with Mark Twain as the yet-unlit fireplace drew in drafts. So, instead, he looked to his companions. James, dead to the world as soon as his head hit the pillow. Sirius had once drawn Peter into a game of sorts, attempting to roust their friends with every manner of loud noise. Yet, James slept on—at most scrunching his nose as Sirius’s wand had let out an ear-splitting _crack_. Peter, the friend Remus still couldn’t be quite convinced was as such. The one who Remus struggled to connect with, to bond with. James was easy. Sirius was a small challenge. And Sirius—Sirius who actually could be awoken. Who offered gentle words when Remus’s face was drawn from stress, when he thought no one would notice rebellious Sirius Black acting “soft.”

His body acted before his mind, bare feet hitting frigid stone. His body still shook, some from cold, some from fear. He padded over to Sirius’s bed, just a few steps. The sixteen-year-old in question was peacefully splayed out, thick black hair draped haphazardly over his face. “Sirius,” Remus murmured, hand hovering over him. Sirius’s eyes fluttered, but he seemed otherwise unresponsive. Remus hesitantly shook Sirius’s shoulder, eliciting a small groan and a handful of mumbled words. “Sirius, I had a bit of a nightmare and—” Sirius groaned again, hand vaguely tapping the bed before Sirius rolled over and condensed himself into a position that took up only a bit more than half the bed. Remus hesitated a moment more before carefully lifting Sirius’s quilt and slipping under the covers. He managed to position himself a respectful distance from his friend. His body still quaked with aftershocks, the dream still ebbing in his head. The bed shifted, and suddenly an arm was draped across him, a nose pressed into his neck. Sirius mumbled something that vaguely sounded like Moony as he pressed closer.

The rest of that night, Remus dreamt instead of happiness and joy and contentment.

Two nights passed before Remus found himself bolting awake again, shaking and terrified of the monsters in his dreams. The dream was more firm in his mind—slashing flesh, tearing sinew, blood and terror and screams.

He never knew if he was remembering the Other Him, or remembering That Night. Maybe both, maybe neither.

He glanced at Sirius’s bed, hesitant. The others had made such a fuss last time. James had awoken them with a delighted _whoop_ and had congratulated them, demanding some amount of money from Peter. Peter, beady- and dew-eyed, merely stared at them. Remus was quick to explain that he had a nightmare, but even that hadn’t stopped James from ribbing them all day, singing juvenile songs about “Moony and Padfoot, sitting on a log, getting too close and having a—” before Sirius hexed his shoelaces.

But the temporary shame, the mild embarrassment, couldn’t compare to the raw terror seeping into his bones. And, reluctant as he was to admit it, he _had_ slept absolutely brilliantly with the warmth of another body within arm’s reach.

And, again, the moon was only just past halfway through its journey in the sky.

Remus slid out of bed, tried to gently awaken Sirius. Sirius was less responsive, but he still shifted to accommodate Remus, immediately finding a new position involving a leg vaguely draped on Remus’s, a forehead gently pressed to the nape of his neck, and a hand loosely resting on his hip. Remus was always aware of how tactile Sirius could be—found it extraordinarily interesting once he learned about the Black family’s parenting—and while it could be a bit overwhelming during the day, he was discovering how truly grateful he was for it at night. There was just something inherently soothing about the warmth of another body, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the consistent weight of limbs pressing down—anchoring him. It was like a Patronous charm for nightmares.

Remus once again found himself immersed in fantastical, wonderful dreams that night.

It soon grew into a habit, evolving into Sirius point-blank telling that he didn’t need to wake him up anymore; he was welcome anytime.

…Which was a phrase that absolutely drew James into making increasingly lewd suggestions during the entirety of that day. And that day ended with James being hexed about four different ways.

It was a comfortable routine, so comfortable that Remus found his nightmares receding. He was alarmed and almost a little disappointed to find that he had managed to go for almost a week without waking up from a nightmare. The moon was growing fuller, and his typical dreams were those he’d rather not think about simply because they were so embarrassingly happy—filled with images of smiling, shaggy-haired faces, light touches, stolen kisses, laughter spilling into every last moment.

He never _could_ remember who he was kissing, when he woke up, but it was pleasant enough a memory he didn’t mind.

However, while Remus felt light and happy, Sirius seemed to grow darker—scowling and snapping at anyone who did anything even a little wrong. He and James would spend hours in furtive conversations, on long walks that resulted in them turning up muddy and scuffed, away from the common room—from Remus and Peter. James and Sirius had always been attached at the hip, so it didn’t seem too odd at first. Until Sirius had skulked through the portrait, spotted Remus curled up with a book, and promptly turned around and walked out.

Body before brain, Remus’s book dropped to the ground and his feet carried him quickly after Sirius. Sirius, the one who had discovered most of the secret passages and shortcuts they’d detailed on the Marauder’s Map. Sirius, the one who could keep up with James’s animagus form even when he was human. Sirius, the one who had training in being evasive and hard to find.

Remus spent what felt like hours searching for him, but came up empty.

Sirius wasn’t in bed that night, and for the first time in a week, Remus had a nightmare.

The moon took its toll on Remus, leaving him sore and aching and miserable. And above all, frustrated. Sirius was still avoiding him. He couldn’t remember if he had even come to the Shack, could barely remember the last time they were actually face-to-face.

James was useless—waffling and giving half-answers when Remus, after another night spent in the freezing common room trying to forget his dreams, finally confronted him. Peter just squeaked and scampered away whenever Remus approached him.

Remus was barely sleeping anymore. Nightmares plagued him, each worse than the last. He was spending more time in the common room than in his bed, enchanted blanket keeping him warm as wintery air leaked through the fireplace. Sometimes, he’d manage to doze, occasionally waking up to lukewarm tea likely left by some well-meaning house elf. Sometimes, he’d stay up from the darkest part of the night to the earliest reaches of sunlight.

Remus was finding himself struggling in classes more and more as fatigue began to take its toll on him. He didn’t know why the nightmares were so frequent now, when he’d survived six years of only occasional bouts. He didn’t know why he couldn’t manage more than four hours of sleep before some horrible image shook his brain into consciousness. He didn’t know why Sirius was so resolutely avoiding him, taking to sitting across the classroom and on the opposite end of the table to him. He didn’t know why James was content with leaving Remus in his misery, why he hadn’t yet shaken Sirius out his mood. He felt like he barely knew anything anymore—outside of stress and fatigue and exhaustion.

And he finally had it when Sirius chose Eunice Ilk over him for a Transfiguration project. Eunice Ilk, when tasked with turning a teacup into a mouse, could only manage to lightly blanch the ornately painted china into a muted grey. Eunice Ilk had failed to turn a thimble into a thumbtack. Eunice Ilk hadn’t even managed to turn a green ball yellow. Eunice Ilk still couldn’t consistently turn a match into a needle. Her wand shot smoke more often than spells, and absolutely everyone dreaded being paired with Eunice Ilk.

And yet, Sirius chose _her_ over _him_.

Remus was _done_. He was done waiting for Sirius to pull his head out of his ass and talk to him. He was done playing this Sirius’s way. He was done being passive and nice and, well, himself.

He knew Sirius tended to spend Sunday mornings in the owlery or the astronomy tower. Remus, being the kind and respectful friend he was, had let Sirius keep these mornings even if he was being a right brat. He knew that as much as Sirius tried to match James’s easy, boisterous, loud nature, Sirius needed time to himself and time to brood and time to just _be_. But Sirius had lost his right to these private moments when he had chosen Eunice-bloody-Ilk over one of his friends.

Remus found him leaning on one of the walls surrounding the top of the astronomy tower, seeming to watch the bustle of students down below. Remus had been plotting and planning exactly what he was going to say, exactly how to tell Sirius what an awful twat he’d been, exactly how to demand to know what exactly he thought he was doing by avoiding Remus.

“What did I do wrong?” Remus demanded instead, the arguments in his head already dying. Sirius whipped around, startled. His eyes darted around, looking for escape. “Sirius, tell me.” Remus’s voice sounded far more desperate than he’d intended it. “You’ve been avoiding me for almost a month. You owe me that much.”

Sirius’s eyes still sought escape routes, his body tense and defensive.

“Aren’t we friends?” Remus knew it was a low blow, knew it was like a knife in the back. Sirius had just started living with James this past summer, after his mother had disowned him. Sirius had told them—all four of them—how they were like his family, how his friends meant more than anything to him. But Remus was mad—no, furious— _especially_ because of Sirius’s declaration.

Remus took no joy in the way those three words made Sirius crumple. “Do friends do what we do? Isn’t that why you stopped?” Sirius’s words were hushed, yet harshly edged.

“Sirius, I don’t—”

“Friends don’t sleep in the same bed. Friends don’t—don’t _hold_ each other. Friends don’t—”

“I stopped because the nightmares stopped,” Remus interrupted, not exactly sure what Sirius was on about. Yeah, they might be more affectionate than some of the other groups of guys in the school, but that was just Sirius. Sirius was tactile, a hugger, a cuddler. It was rare for the four of them to be together and for Sirius to not be at least leaning on one of them. He’d once spent an entire lunch by the lake with his head in Remus’s lap and his feet in James’s while sitting up occasionally to poke Peter in the ribs if he started whining. It was just what he did.

“They…stopped?” Sirius said slowly, his signature confused-puppy face making Remus almost want to concede this fight. Almost.

“Yeah. Until you started avoiding me. Then I was stuck with nightmares and no way to fix them.” Remus could hear the accusation in his own voice, knew it wasn’t fair, but almost felt justified. It was a coincidence, not a correlation, but a petty part of himself still blamed Sirius.

“You…didn’t mind sleeping in the same bed as me?”

Remus looked at Sirius, disbelieving. “Have you gone daft?” he finally managed out. “ _I_ asked _you_ if I could get in _your_ bed, Sirius.” Remus’s voice was strained, astonishment lacing each syllable. Any anger he might have held leeched out, replaced instead by exasperation. “But—Davis made that comment, and you stopped sleeping in my bed, and you seemed kind of off—” Sirius rambled desperately. “Davis is an actual twat. I’ve heard worse,” Remus pointed out. “And I was ‘off’”—he made vicious, exaggerated air quotes—“because the moon was almost full.”

Sirius just gaped at him.

“You’re an actual idiot, Sirius,” Remus added, just a touch spitefully.

“So, you don’t care that we were sleeping together?”

Remus just stared at him. He could swear, sometimes Sirius could be even more thick-skulled than James—which was an actual accomplishment.

“No, Sirius. I do not mind,” Remus said slowly, clearly enunciating each syllable.

There was a sudden blur of motion, hands fisting his jumper, a face in front of his, lips touching his.

_Oh_.

Remus leaned in deeper, not completely content to let Sirius take the lead after literally abandoning for him a month. Their lips moved seamlessly together, a perfect rhythm made only slightly awkward by the angle. Sirius adjusted his head first, pressing the kiss deeper.

Suddenly, all those happy dreams seemed to make sense. Suddenly, Remus remembered exactly who he had been kissing in each and every one. Suddenly, everything clicked perfectly into place.

Remus lost track of how long he and Sirius kissed. It was perfect and wonderful and beautiful. It didn’t make up for Sirius’s ridiculous ego tantrum, but they’d have time to sort it later. Right now, all that mattered was the feeling of Sirius’s lips on his, the feeling of Sirius’s hair in his hands, the feeling of Sirius’s hands on his hips.

They showed up to lunch late, hair mussed and clothes rumpled. All of the teasing, the cat calling, James’s ridiculous innuendos were worth it, though—especially when Remus got to curl around Sirius and fall into a deep, content sleep with only images of Sirius kissing him and holding him and laughing with him forming his dreams.


End file.
